Christmas in the Alps
by E.M.K.81
Summary: Erik does not want to celebrate Christmas, and certainly not in any soppy way. But fate has other plans in that winter. He just wanted to travel through Europe and got lost. Told from Erik's point of view.


**CHRISTMAS IN THE ALPS**

 _Summary: Erik does not want to celebrate Christmas, and certainly not in any soppy way. But fate has other plans in that winter. He just wanted to travel through Europe and got lost. Told from Erik's point of view._

I must have been mad when I decided to cross a mountain pass in December. It was an unusual warm December and I was on my way from Trieste to Belgium and was far behind my schedule. My self-appointed schedule, there was no one waiting for me and I surely had no business anywhere, I was just restlessly wandering Europe. I would have been much faster taking the railway, but I did not want to be locked in a compartment. After my horrible adventures in the Orient I feared people even more than ever. I felt as if everyone could see right through my mask and see not only my horrible face but also the sins I had committed. When I was alone, I had no such problems. My twisted conscience just shut down and left me in peace.

Maybe that's why I did not want to spend Christmas in one small village in the Austrian Alps but hoped to be able to reach the next large city before the weather would change and the snowfalls would really start. There was snow, but only 15 to 20 centimeters. That was not so much, I had really good travelling clothes and two very good horses, two mares.

My packhorse was a Norico-Pinzgauer, a pinto, she was rather small for her race, hands high 155 centimeter, but she was strong and good-natured. I named her Belladonna. My riding horse was a brown mare I named Mandragon. The names of two beautiful but poisoness plants for my beloved mares. Mandragon was a mixed breed from a Altai pony and a Achal-Tekkiner horse. Such a breed was nowhere to be found in the world, the Achal-Tekkiner horse is a horse from the desterts of Uszbekistan, the Altai pony is a horse race from east Russia, small and very strong, very tough. My Mandragon was the perfect mix for my purpose - if only she had been a bit more clever. She was good-natured and stupid. If I was in her saddle, she would trust me to care for her - she would stumble in every whole, run into every tree if I didn't navigate her around. She was a bit too trusting. Belladonna was a bit mistrustful. She decided herself where she would go. She followed me, yes, but if she disliked a way I could do nothing to make her go there. They were about the same hight, a bit small for me, but I was not heavy.

People who knew me thought I liked large, beautiful, spirited stallions. Of course I did - for shows! But doing a show or just travelling are very different animals. For my travels I needed good-natured, tough horses with very high endurance, and my two mares provided just that. They were a bit small, but that only made it easier to mount them, especially when I was already tired after a long day in the saddle.

Well, there I was, somewhere in the Alps. I must have made a wrong turn, for according to my map I should have entered the next village hours ago. It was close to sunset and all I could see was beautiful, snowy landscape, woods, and bold mountain ridges. Beautiful - but no house, no village. Where was I? Spending a night in an alpine forest was nothing I looked forward to - but I was not afraid. It was nothing I had not done before and I had everything I needed. I knew how to find shelter beneath trees, how to build a fire and I had my warm coat, my heavy riding-boots, my blankets for me and the horses. I even wore my winter-mask.

The winter-mask was a special design. It was a leather mask that covered my forehead, the cheeks, the missing nose down to the upper lip and at the sides down to the lower jaw. There were four ribbons, two just above my eary and two at the lower end, I would tie all four together at the back of my head. Where the upper ribbons were stitched to the mask I had applied small buttons where I could button a piece of woolen black cloth that would cover my missing nose and the mouth. It didn't really serve another purpose than keeping me warm, especially warming the air I was breathing. Usually the nose warms the air before it reaches one's lungs - I had no such luxury and needed a substitute or I would get cough, bronchitis, lung infection every winter. I covered my head with a black scarf and fixed the whole construction with my wide-brimmed hat.

While I was looking for a group of trees that might provide a bit shelter in the dim light of sunset it started snowing. Just my luck. Now finding a place for the night would be even more difficult. Winter, snow, mountains - I cursed my arrogance that I had not listened to the greedy innkeeper and stayed for two months. That would be a very cold and very long night.

To make sure my mares wouldn't stumble over something I overlooked I dismounted, lit my little storm lantern and walked, Mandragon nuzzling my back every so often. I could still see the road - or what I thought to be a road in the snow. It was more or less just a swath in the forest. It was completely dark and the snowfall became heavier. I did not see more than maybe one meter before my feet and the snow on the ground was now about 40 centimeters high, which made walking difficult for I had to take care that I would not make a wrong step that might cause me to fall or step on something and hurt my feet. And I had to take care of my horses, who trusted me blindly as they followed me.

I have no idea how long I wandered in the darkness and the snowfall, not seeing anything that would tell me where I was, not finding any place where I could rest. I knew that lying down in the snow and falling asleep might kill me, better I kept walking for it kept me warm. But I do not think I made much progress, I guess maybe fivehundred meters per hour at best, I was tired, hungry and shivering with cold.

Suddenly I heard something like a human voice. First I thought it was just a trick of my senses, but as I went on, I heard it again, this time clear. It was a child's voice and it was calling for help. Maybe it had seen the light from my lantern while I could not see it. "Where are you?" I cried out.

"Over here," came the answer. I signaled my horses to stand and wait for me, then I went to where I suspected the child to be. No child should be out in the woods in such a cold night. But if a child was here in the woods, then somewhere close must be a village where I could spend the night. I could only hope the child knew the way.

I found a boy, sitting under a tree, shivering with cold and crying in despair. When he saw me he laughed in relief and said something I could not understand. He spoke German, but with a horrible dialect, I could not understand. "Please say that again," I asked and knelt down beside him.

"Leghold trap," he cried out, pointing to his foot. The left foot was struck in an iron leghold trap, the leg most likely broken. The trap was old and rusty and I needed all my strength to open it. The boy, he was only eleven years old, would never have the strength to open it.

"Where is the next village?" I asked, speaking slowly, hoping he would understand.

"I do not know," he answered very slowly, clearly struggling to speak in real German and not in his dialect.

"Where is your home?" I tried again. If the child was as lost as I was he would not be able to show me the way and I would have to decide if he was worth the trouble helping him.

"Where are we?" he asked.

Just my luck. This was clearly not my day. "Tell me where you live?" I tried again.

"In a mountain farm. My grandma has the largest mountain farm in the world" he answered prouldy. Mountain farm. I groaned in frustration. "If you tell me where the wayside cross is, I can show you."

Wayside cross? I could not remember passing any wayside cross in the last hours. "Are we far away from the wayside cross?" I asked, trying another approach.

"Don't know," he answered, "Where do you come from?"

"O, just the street over there," I answered, pointing to the direction I had left my horses.

His eyes grew wide and he stared at me in confusion. "There is no street."

I took a deep breath and tried not to panic. "What do you mean, there is no street? I came up here on a street? Not more than a hundred meters away - the swath in the forest?"

He grinned as if I was an extremely stupid child. "Ah, the avalanche," he said and I groaned again. It surpassed my worst fears. I had mistaken a swath from an avalanche for a street.

"Okay, if there is the avalanche, then where is the wayside cross?" I tried again. What else could I do?

"At the timberline," he answered, "It marks the road so stupid strangers won't mistake the swath for the road."

"Okay, wiseass, but if you want this stupid stranger to rescue you you should watch your tongue," I snapped. Not a very mature, but I was tired and close to panic myself. I simply did not have the nerve to deal with the child.

Now he panicked. "O no, please don't leave me... don't leave me... I'll show you the most beautiful mountain farm in the world, you can even ride our horse!" he promised. I did not care much about a farmer's horse. But a place to sleep and maybe a cup of tea sounded good. I picked him up and carried him to my horses.

The boy cried out in delight as he saw them. I placed him on Mandragon's back and told him not to touch the reins. Mandragon would follow me, but if he tried to steer her, he would only confuse her. The snowfall did not stop, it only became heavier, if that was possible. I fought my way through the snow that was now about 70 centimeters and when we reached the timberline. Now I understood that the swath caused by the avalanche was at the timberline about onehundred meters broad. And we were at the wrong end for there was no wayward cross. I was tired and walking became more difficult with each step.

The wayward cross was nearly covered in snow, only the upper part was still visible. "There is your wayward cross," I said, trying to control my heavy breathing, "Now where is your farm?"

"Usually I can see it from here," he answered. I clenched my fists and tried not to hurt him in my anger. Beating a child would not help me. I faced him slowly and saw the blood seeping from his left leg, his face pale and his eyes wide with fear. No, frightening him further would not help at all.

"Try to remember. The road - does it lead to your farm?"

"NO" He cried and sniffed. But I was sure I had heared something else and hushed him. I could hear voices through the snowfall and the darkness of that icy night. I could not understand what they said, but it was a human voice calling out. Of course, his family would be looking for the boy! "We are here!" I cried out on top of my lungs, "At the wayward cross!" I turned to the boy and asked his name.

"Josef," he whispered.

"Josef is with me!" I cried, hoping whoever was looking for the child would at least tell me where the next inn was, or maybe I could pretend to be the child's rescuer and they would offer me a bed for the night.

There was an answer. A hoarse male voice cried out "Josef" and the boy answered now. I allowed myself one moment to relax as I leaned my forehead against Mandragon's head.

Soon after that I saw the light of a torch, I held up my lantern to lead the way as I struggled to walk towards them. I could feel Mandragon behind me, she was more or less pushing me, and I could guess that Belladonna was behind her, as always. I did not need to see them to know they were there.

Two men approached us, when they saw us, one called out "My son!" and ran - as a man can run when the snow reaches his hip. He ignored me completely, taking the boy in his arms and hugging him close.

"Where have you been?" the man asked, sobbing in relief.

"Down the avalanche," the boy answered, "I got caught in a trap but he freed me and I rode his horse." He didn't seem frightened or hurt, right now he was excited.

Both men turned to me. They were smaller than me but their shoulders were much broader. They had long beards. "I found him down there, struck in a leghold trap, I'm afraid he's severly hurt. He asked me to take him home," I told them.

"You found him WHERE?" the man who was still holding the child, I guessed, he was the father.

I pointed out the direction and told him at the beginning of the avalanche caused cutting in the wood. They looked at each other, then asked me how I made it up there then. I shurgged and told them "With difficulty." In the light of their torches they did not see my mask, they only saw my face covered with a shawl, which was not unusual in the coldness of that night.

"Who are you?" they asked and I gave a bow, telling them I was a musician on my way from Italy to Belgium and had lost my way. I did not dare tell them the truth, because the truth was that I was an ex-circus freak, an ex-magician, ex-entertainer and worst of all, ex-assassin. Those people might be superstitious so I better not mention magic or something like that.

My two horses were prove enough that I was certainly a rich man. They allowed me to come with them and soon wondered that I did not need reins to lead my horses. Of course not. Mandragon was mine - I had raised her, she thought I was her mother. Belladonna trusted me like one trusts his best friend. They followed me because I cared for them. As long as I did not disappoint them, they would trust me.

I completely lost track of time as we made our way through darkness and snow. The snow was now reaching my hips and I was too tired to fight it. One of the bearded men took the lead, the other one behind, then me and the horses, the boy again riding Mandragon. Even with another one clearing a path for us I found it difficult to go on. I did no longer feel my feet in the coldness, my fingers hurt like hell despite the gloves and I was exhausted. I needed warmth and a place to sleep. The men kept talking with me and the boy, but I could not answer. I didn't understand them and I did not even care to try.

I gave a sigh of relief when we saw the lights of a house. It was a large house, mostly made of wood. I did not see how many floors it had, for as soon as the door opened all I could see and hear was chaos. Women and men came to greet the beareded men and the boy, especially one woman cared for the boy, picked him up and carried him into the house. Everyone was talking at once, no one listening. They seemed to have completely forgotten about me. But I was not willing to stay in the snow so I just asked if they had a stable for my horses.

A small woman approached me. She was old, had only one tooth and one eye. Her back was severly hunched obviously after long years of hard labour.

"Who are you?" she asked with a voice that told me that she was in command there.

"My name is Erik and I lost my way. I found Josef in the woods and took him here," I answered politely and a bit submissive. People usually do not take it lightly if a stranger is too arrogant and right now I needed their help. The old woman looked to the two men who nodded in agreement.

She immediately commanded one of the men to show me to the stable, which was right behind the house. There was a stable and a barn and a pit latrine behind the house. I lead the horses into the stable. There were different boxes like rooms in that stable, one for the cows, one for the pigs, one for chicken and one for the horse. They had a very large horse, a stallion. And my two mares - they were not on heat in winter - started flirting with him immediately. I could barely unsaddle them. Taking off their bridle was not easy as well. The stallion was absolutely delighted to have two mares in the stable now.

Since there was no free box for them they would have to spend the night in the corridor of the stable. The bearded man helped me to give them hay and a bucket with water. I took the packsaddle, which was heavy, with me. It held everything I had and I didn't want to leave it in the stable. The bearded man had to help me - all in the packsaddle and the load was about 110 Kilogramm - too much for me alone, especially when I was exhausted.

In the house I was lead into a large room that was kitchen and diningroom at once. It was mostly made of wood except for the walls. They were crude stone and seemed to be very thick. The ceiling was dark wood and blackened by smoke from the stove. There was a table and a cupboard in the kitchen, at the other end of the room was a large table with benches, next to it was another table with benches, but these benches did not have backrests. Above the more comfortable table was a domestic shrine, complete with a crude wooden crucifix , at it's bottom a crib complete with Maria, Josef, sheperds, sheep, ox, donkey, the Three Kings and a camel, or what someone who had never seen a camel imagined it to look like. I had trouble not to laugh at this decoration, especially with the evergreens stuffed behind the cross and the ridiculous colored ribbons. Of course I did not want to offend them, not when I needed their help to survive that bitter cold night and the snow.

I couldn't help kneeling down next to the stove where a fire was build and holding out my hands, still wearing my gloves, trying to get warmed up. I knew I was being rude, but the heat of the fire was too badly needed.

"Sit down!" the hunchback woman said. Her voice was surprisingly strong and not at all like that of an old woman. It was a good mezzosoprano voice. Everyone suddenly went to their place, obviously they had very strict sitting arrangements. I got up and took off my hat, twisting in nervously in my hands. This was the moment I feared most - the moment I had to reveal that I was wearing a mask. I took off my the shawl, now there was no denying that I wore a mask. I could see it in the faces of the people - there was the old woman, four bearded men and three women - that they mistrusted me.

"Why do you wear a mask?" one of the men asked and got up from his seat, standing before me with his arms crossed before his breast, trying to look intimidating. Maybe I would have been intimidated, if I had not noticed how he glanced to the other men to check if they were backing him up. Plus, I was much taller than all of them. And I calculated how much time I would need to kill them all. The hunchback woman was no problem - the four men, I calculated quickly, less than ten seconds with a revolver. I had one, but I didn't like it. A revolver is a horribly imprecise weapon, but at a distance of one or two meters it is hard to miss a target. Even with only lasso and knives I would need two minutes at the most and my risk in that would be frightening small. Plus three women here and one woman upstairs and an unknown number of children. That would be the problem. I had scruples killing children, not that I would not do it if absolutely necessary, but if there was any other way I would not do harm a child. And here was another way - playing along, trying to mollify them, if necessary bow to them and beg. Much better than wiping out the clan.

"Are you a poacher?"

"Are you a robber?"

I took a deep breath and answered in a carefully controlled voice, trying to make my voice sound soft and my tone submissive: "I am neither. The mask is just to... protect my wound. I... was severly wounded in the face, it isn't healed yet and it gives me lots of pain. So I beg your indulgence for not taking it off."

The men looked at the old woman for guidance. She studied me carefully, then tapped her walking stick on the wooden floor and told me to sit to her right. "Even if he was a robber, he saved my grandson. So we owe him gratitude. Do I have to remind you that it is highly un-Christian to send a poor wanderer, who clearly needs our help, away in the night in this snowstorm. We are a Christian family. Now, tell us your name, sir?"

She clearly believed me to be an escaped criminal, in which she was not wrong at all, but I wouldn't tell her. I bowed to her, my hat in my hand, as I answered: "Madame, thank you for your generosity. I am Erik, at your service."

She gestured for me to take the seat at her right. I sat down and tried not to look down at anyone, which was impossible given our difference in height. When I rubbed my gloved hands together, the woman tapped her stick again.

"He's cold," she said, "Give us some tea." One of the youger women hurried to get a pot full of snow, melt it on the stove and heat the water to make tea. Everyone else waited in silence and I tried not to let them see my fear. I was afraid. I knew if they would cast me out now I had no chance to survive the night, my only chance would be to kill them all so I could spend the night in their house, but I absolutely hated that idea.

Finally the woman placed two cups of tea on the table, one for me and one for the old woman. The smell told me that I would strongly dislike the taste. The old woman tapped her stick again and asked the younger woman if she had forgotten something. The younger one rolled her eyes and fetched a bottle from the cupboard. She poured some alcohol into the teacups before I could refuse. The smell of the self-destilled booze did nothing to improve the tea, on the contrary, as I took the cup into my hands to warm my aching fingers I wondered how anyone could drink that brew. I took off the cloth to reveal my mouth so I could drink. The tea was mostly some sour tea - what tea tastes sour? - and that indefinable booze, that left a horrible taste. I couldn't help grimacing.

"A bit strong, isn't it?" I whispered, somehow the alcohol affected my voice.

"We need to get you warmed up," the old woman shrugged and emptied her cup.

I took another sip and after the third sip I no longer cared about the taste. I remember drowning the cup and taking off my gloves, but I do not remember much more of that evening. That special tea with so much alcohol after a day without food, it was too much and I was really careless. They could have killed me, disposed of the body and no one would ever have known.

But they did not.

My next recollection is waking on the wooden bench in the kitchen, my shoulders and back aching from sleeping on such a hard bed. It was dark in the room, which I recognized as the kitchen. The noise that had woken me up was the squeaking of a wooden staircaise. My hands flew up to my face, checking if my mask was in place. My mask was there, only askew. That was not bad, for it could slip out of place in my sleep, but obviously they had not taken it away in my sleep. I berated myself for my carelessness. As soon as the mask was in place the door opened and a woman came in with a lit candle. Drowsily I pushed myself up and stood up, holding onto the table to steady myself.

"You don't need to get up," the woman said.

Before I could stop myself I answered: "Of course I have to - when a lady enters a room every man ought to stand up - a polite man does not sit when a lady stands." God, I sounded like a small boy repeating a lecture from his teacher, I blushed with shame and was thankful for the darkness for she could not see it. She merely grunted and started building a fire. She should have offered me a seat, but either she did not know or did not care - or it was her way to tell me to go to hell. I longed to sit down again, the hangover just kicking in after only so few hours or sleep, I felt lightheaded and tired. The woman completely ignored me so I asked if I was allowed to take a seat.

She glanced up ouver her shoulder. "You are asking ME if I allow you to sit down?" she asked and I tried to figure out if she was angry with me or afraid of me or just generally not a morning-person.

"You are a lady, I am just some homeless wanderer. Of course I would never dare sit down in your presence without your permission," I answered. Maybe I was overdoing it, but since I was in their home I had to behave and in my case I had to be at least trice as polite as any other man to make up for wearing a mask - I did not dare to think of what I would be forced to do if they ever saw my face.

She laughed. "What are you? A ladies' man? A fraudster? It won't work - here is nothing for you, no money, no woman."

"I'm just trying to behave like a gentleman," I answered, hurt that she mistook my intentions.

"Okay, then sit down, by all means!" she snapped, "And stop staring at me, I don't like that."

I sat down and closed my eyes. I might have dozed off again, for it startled me when the squeaking of the staircase set in again as if a horde of berserkers was attacking. The door flew open, revealing a bunch of children. When they saw me they stopped dead in their tracks, but the children behind them pushed them into the room until 16 children, the youngest about two years old, the oldest about 14, stood there, staring at me.

"Told you he has yellow eyes," a boy called out, it was the boy I had saved. His leg was bandaged and he used a crude stick that was far too large for him to walk. Another woman followed with a baby in her arms. 17 children in one house! I But that is not such a large number with four married couples... but all in one house! I couldn't wait for the sunrise so I would be on my way again.

Now the adults came in and took their seat. I stood there, even more awkward than the day before, for now I had the children staring at me and whispering among themselves in their hard-to-understand dialect. I knew they were talking about me even without understanding anything, and the volume steadily increased until I had to clasp my hands over my ears for their shrill voices gave me a headache.

"Shut up and sit down!" the old woman commanded and the children tried to race to their seats, screaming, yelling, climbing over each other, pushing each other out of the way. They all sat at the second, less comfortable, table.

The adults all sat at their places as well, a loaf of bred and a knife placed before the old woman. I was left standing aside in confusion. I did not know the usual proceedings in that family and did not want doing something wrong, not now, for I was in no way prepared for a fight. Not with seventeen children in the room.

It was the old woman who gestured to her right and offered me a seat. I sat down, staring at my own hands for I did not want to see the mistrust and disgust in the other's faces or the shameless stares of the children.

The old woman cut the bread, handing everyone a piece of it. Curiously I watched them place the bread on the table before them and folding their hands in their laps. I followed their example, not wanting to offend someone, especially when I saw the smallest child - not the baby - starting to nibble at it's bread and a woman scolding it for being ungrateful and disrespectful. I didn't believe the child would have cared about the rebuke, but the woman told another child to slap the smaller one so she would not have to get up to do it. All I could do now was bite my tongue and try to hide my embarassement.

That family had a curious tradition of mealtime prayer. First the old woman said a prayer, thanking the Lord that everyone survived the night and that they now had food. Considering the eventy of the night - especially where I had found the boy, far away from any road - I understood their wish to thank God for that. Then she asked everyone to add a personal thanks in silence and I tried to give my best impression of a man in prayer.

I watched them pick up their bread and start eating. The bread was quite good, but I wasn't used to have nothing but bread for food. Of course I would not be ungrateful and as it seemed the family was poor enough so sharing their bread with me was clearly not easy, they had enough hungry mouths to be fed. But I missed coffee. In Turkey I had grown used to drink coffee, especially in the morning, to make getting up easier. But obviously they did not have anything like coffee.

We ate in silence, then I got up and thanked them for the food and the shelter and announced I had to be on my way now.

"Where do you want to go?" one of the men asked.

"If you show me the road, I'll be on my way," I answered.

"You won't make it to the road," came the answer.

"Why not?" I could only hope my sudden fear would not be too obvious. What would they do to me? Did they plan to rob me or blackmail me?

They laughed and pointed to the small windows. I could not see anything and told them exactly that.

"You should be able to see the sunrise now. But the snow is about two and a half meters high, we saw that from the upper floor, you will never make it to the road."

I could not answer. I had never before seen so much snow. Two and a half meter snow! Of course they were right, there was no way I would make it anywhere today. I was shaking so hard with overwhelming panic at the realization that I was trapped - trapped behind snow-walls but they were much more solid than iron bars. I could have escaped a human made prison, but there was no way I could ever conquer nature itself - I sank down on the bench again as my knees gave way, my hands shaking so hard I had to hide them under the table.

My behaviour alarmed the family. The women got up and herded the children out of the room and the men clearly moved to manoever themselves in a better position should I do something odd. The better position was not a better position to fight me but to hide behind their brothers. Only the old woman did not show fear.

"Why the despair? Why are you in such a hurry?" she asked and her next words made me gasp in shock: "If we are lucky you can be on your way end of February." Her words were meant as comfort to me, but they did nothing to help me. I felt panic rise im my chest - would I survive two month with that family? There was no way I could leave them, I would not make it far and my horses would not be able to follow me.

"You are not a wanted man, are you?" one of the beared men asked suspiciously, pointing to my package that was lying where I had dropped it the night before. The rifle barrel struck out.

I had to take a deep breath as I fought to find an answer. "It is just an old keepsake, not even loaded, and surely no longer useable," I lied, the rifle was not loaded, but it was in working order, it was no keepsake, it was the best long-distance weapon I had. I was no marksman, but sometimes I had been forced to kill at long distance, and sometimes I had to protect myself against wild animals. My lasso was useless against a bear or a tiger or some animal like that, there were times when I needed a stronger weapon.

They were not appeased. "I'm not a wanted man," I said, and that was the truth. Everyone who wanted me dead at that time thought I already was - so no one was looking for me. "I am just a musician and I should keep my appointment." That was not true. There was no appointment, no one would ever miss me, but I felt much saver telling the lie that someone waited for me and might start an investigation if I would not show up in time.

"If you try to leave now, we will find your corpse after the thaw. Better you come late than never, don't you think?" the old woman advised me, her voice somehow gentle, then she turned to the bearded men: "What are you gawking at? Do something useful and clear the farmyard so we can reach the toilet, the stable and the barn!"

The men obeyed grumbling.

"I am sorry for the inconvenience," I started, trying to hide my feelings and appear calm and friendly, "I appear to be in desperate need of accomodation and food at least for the next weeks. Of course I know that your provisions are limited and you did not plan for one more - but I assure you I can pay for food and shelter, I will refund you for your generosity." I could only hope this was true. I had money, yes, but I did not know how much. Living as a nomad made it difficult to have a bank account and I did not trust any bank with my wealth. So I used valuable gems. They were hidden in the hem of my leather mask. One might be surprised what fortune could be hidden in something so small as a mask.

The old woman looked at me, her face stern. "It would be very un-Christian of us to cast you out and leave you to die," she said, "Even if you are a criminal. You can stay with us until the road is free again."

I gave her a small bow and assured her I would do my best to cause as less trouble as possible. I would gladly sleep in the stable from now on - I had to insist on this for I did not trust myself to sleep in that kitchen again, not with so many people who might become nosy and try to see if I was really as deformed as I had claimed to be and my reflexes to strike first and ask questions later - and I wanted to take my meals there. They would barely notice my presence.

She would have none of it. Somehow she did agree that making a bed of straw in the hallway between the boxes would be a good idea - it would be warm enough and I would be more comfortable than on the kitchen bench - she insisted on me sharing their table. Since I had saved her grandson she felt obligued to do that. And I would be there for Christmas celebration. I didn't want to but she insisted it would be un-Christian to leave me alone in the stable at Christmas eve. I gave in for somehow I understood that un-Christian was somehow the worst curse-word I would ever hear in that house. Not wanting to fight her, I volunteered to help the other men with the snow. This had not much to do with any genuine wish to be helpful, I had to go to the toilet and surely would not use a bucket in the kitchen. I would not lower myself to do that.

The four men surely did need help clearing away the snow. We could hear the animals making impatient noises in the stable, they wanted food, the cows and goats would need to be milked. And I could hear my two mares nickering happily, which was no good sign. They were enjoying themselves and usually I would have to do repair work or pay the owner of the stable the damage. That was Belladonna's and Mandragon's way to punish me for leaving them alone.

That moment we heared two women yelling at the children. From what I understood the children had been running in the house and tipped over one of the buckets they used as chamber pots. I couldn't help grin at the image their yelling brought up in my mind and the other men were chuckling. Of course they did not see my grin, I wore mask, the cloth, my shawl and hat.

We did not make it to the toilet in time for my needs and so I had no choice than follow the example of the other men and relieve myself in the snow. Two and a half meters of snow are difficult to clear away. It was past noon when we finally made it to the stable so the women could milk the cows and feed the animals. I had taken off my coat, like the other men had done, and worked only dressed in my suit, mask, shawl and hat and I was covered in sweat from the physical exercise. But somehow being able to work was the only way to gain some respect and prove to them that I was not a workshy criminal.

When we reached the stable and opened the door the three horses stood in the hallway. I was sure that only my two mares had been there and the stallion had been in the box. Now all three were in the hallway and the mares stood there like queens with the stallion as their faithful suitor. "Belladonna!" I scolded, knowing fully well which one was able to open crude wooden bolts. Belladonna looked over her shoulder and purred. I could only laugh as I looked in her brown eyes.

"Didn't we bolt the stallion's box?" I heard one men behind me ask the others.

"I'm so sorry, it was my mare - she can open such wooden bolts. I... I refund you for every damage she might have done..."

They laughed. "The only one who might suffer damage is you - you didn't plan to breed your mares with our stallion, did you?"

"But if you have foals we want them," another one added. I endured their mockery like a good-natured fool for this was something that had nothing to do with my deformity. I knew my mares should not be on heat before March but one could never be sure. If they decided to have an affaire de coeur I would not stand in their way. Whoever had seen a stallion and a mare in heat knew that the meager strength of a human could not match that of a stallion. And this one's weight was about one thousand kilogramm - I would not stand between him and his love interest.

But when I urged my mares to retreat into the horse-box, the stallion willingly followed them so I could close the door and bolt it. As soon as it was bolted, Belladonna started on the bolt. "Stop it!" I commanded and she looked at me innocently, only to start again the very moment I turned my back to her. I would not have noticed had the men not laughed again. "If you can give me some wooden board I'll make a new bolt, one she can't open," I sighed. Obviously boredom would be nothing I would ever need to worry about.

It took all day until sunset to clear enough space in the farmyard so the house, the toilet, the barn, the stable and the dungheap could be reached easily through some sort of broad corridors in the snow. I was covered in sweat and needed to wash and change at least my shirt. Now my packsaddle with my belongings was in the stable and I had created some sort of bed made of straw in the hallway between the boxes for the animals. It would be enough. I asked one of the men if I could have a wash and he pointed towards a tree trunk that was cut in half and had been hollowed out. There was a wooden pipe above it but now there was no water, only ice.

"We have the best water in the world - directly from the glacier," one men mocked, "And perhaps the world's largest bathroom. But it might be a bit cold right now?" They laughed and I grimaced behind my mask.

"Feel free to use the snow," another one said and stripped naked - stark naked - and started to wash with snow. The same moment the four women herded the children - all stark naked and crying, screaming and yelling in protest - out of the house to make them wash themselves in the snow. I turned away in embarassment. The elder girls were about ten to twelve years old and one of them was rather mature for her age - I had to avoid staring at her, at least I had promised to myself that despite what everyone thought about me I was a gentleman. I would not stare at a naked woman, much less girls who were so very young children. To my great surprise no one even thought about this. Of course, the four men were brothers, their wives sisters in law and all the children cousins. But I was a stranger. I have no idea why but they did not think it bad to wash when I was there.

In retrospect I think this is just normal - maids and menials often lived with a peasant family and privacy was not known to them. With only one well in the backyard and everyone being forced to wash at this well there would never be any privacy, everyone knew how everyone else looked like under their clothing. I knew for sure I would not allow anyone to see me without my clothing, much less without mask. I would wash behind the stable - if I could clear a path to the other side of the stable, that is - when everyone else was finished and inside the house to get warmed up.

When everyone else was finished the five women washed themselves and I had to hide myself in the stable, pretending to tend to my mares. The horses were the diversion I needed to keep my promise to myself that I would never sink so low as to conduct myself as the lecherous monster everyone thought me to be. When I was too slow in cleaning Belladonna's hooves she slammed me into the wall roughly. I gasped for air and tried to stop the room from spinning around me. Belladonna had just given me a small reminder of who was the stronger one. But then she came up to me and rubbed her nose at my breast, nibbling on my jacket, begging my forgiveness. I gently caressed her soft, velvet nose, kissed her and told her to be a good girl and let me pass. I caressed Mandragon the same way and then left, watching my two mares standing there and allowing the stallion to nibble at their backs. They had him well-trained in only one night, he behaved like a faithful slave, fullfilling their every wish, and I was almost sure I would hear them giggling.

Only when the people were all in the house, certainly around the stove trying to get warm again, and I had managed to dig some sort of bathroom behind the stable I had my snow-bath. A bath in the snow sounds much more fun than it is. Being naked and rubbing my body with snow was everything but fun. My fingers hurt like hell with coldness and I got dressed in a hurry and ran back to the stable. I needed to get warm before I would catch a cold. When I went through my packsaddle to get my blankets a man entered the stable. I reacted before I could think - I attacked him, threw him to the ground and grasped his throad with both hands before I noticed I had just made a mistake. It was his stable, he had every right to enter any time.

I let go of him and held out my hand to help him to his feet. "I'm sorry," I tried to apologize, ashamed of myself, "You startled me."

"You have a hell of a punch," he said and got up, but ignored my outstretched hand, which I awkwardly placed in my pocket.

"I'm sorry, really," I tried again.

"And you said you were no criminal. But if you are not a criminal, why would you be startled like that when someone enters his own stable?"

He was absolutely right and I tried to figure out an answer without giving away the reason. I knew far too many ways do die at the hands of another man to trust anyone. But I would be damned if I told him my real reasons. So I resorted to a lie. "My disfigurement was no accident. I was... badly hurt. It was done deliberately by someone who hates me not long ago. I am very... jumpy now. I want to apologize, I am really very sorry." It was a lie, but my shame for my really bad behaviour was genuine.

"Mother wants you to share Christmas celebration with us," the man answered, fingering his throad, "But my opinion is that you better stay here. No offense..."

I spread my hands and tried to smile. "By all means, I am with you."

"But you have to tell her!" he insisted and as I stared at him curiously he added sheepishly: "I don't dare oppose her."

"As a gentleman I would never disagree with the lady of the house," I replied, trying to make up for my mistake and be at my best behaviour, "I just change my clothes." When he made no move to leave me alone, I added: "In private, please."

He was not happy to be thrown out of his own stable, but I would not change my clothes before his eyes, no matter he was just one short man with a beard that looked like moss on an old tree.

"You said you are a musician. Here is your chance to prove it, genius. Mother wants you to play at our Christmas celebration." Having delivered his message he left me alone. I hated this. Not only would I be forced to participate at what they called "celebration", no, I would have to perform - and disliked it. That time I disliked every performance I had to do for I would always see her dark eyes, her raven black hair, her dark skin and the full lips. I would remember her bell-like laughter, when she clasped her hands in excitement, the jingle of her bracelets. The sultana, with all her beauty, who had taken my soul, played with it until it was broken beyond repair. I had not recovered from what she had done to me - or, to be precise, what she had made me do to myself, which was somehow far worse than anything she could ever have done to me.

I really would have preferred to stay in the stable. But how could I refuse an invitation when I was dependend on their hospitality? First the whole family started burning incense and walking through all rooms of the house, constantly saying the rosary. Again and again. One rosary in each room. With all the burning incense and the holy water they had somehow saved they seemed to perform some ancient magical ritual. I understood their fear of any severe weather, exposed as their farm was, but I hated to sit in the kitchen and wait and the cheap substitute for incense they burned made me sneeze and cough.

So I found myself standing in their kitchen aka livingroom. It was decorated with evergreen and candles. Two women stood at the wood-burning stove, quarreling over the soup. I did not fully understand what they were saying but I guess it had something to do with the vegetables and the sausages they wanted to put into their soup. One woman was busy combing the children, who refused to simply sit and wait and were constantly up and playing some game of hide and seek or chasing each other. The third woman and the old one sat at the table dinking their infernal tea and mocking the others.

The four men were in one alcove and tried different bottles of booze, complaining that this was the most horrible Christmas in their lives, their wifes were nagging bitches, their mother a tyrant as malicious as they come and they just wished for one peaceful Christmas only with their own family.

I stood aside, hoping to be ignored, feeling horribly out of place. I still hadn't figured out which woman belonged to which man and which child to which parents. They were all just one noisy bunch. The old woman invited me to sit with her and have a cup of tea. She tapped her stick and the young woman beside her got up to get me a cup of tea, it was already with alcohol.

"Thank you," I said and asked what tea that was, this time it tasted much better.

"Poppy seed capsule. We added honey to mark the occasion."

God, I really should not drink this. I already knew that I was highly at risk for addiction for I always enjoyed any relief from the nightmare I was living. Better not drink this - but right now it was the only relief I could find from the unbearable onslaught of screeching and noise to my ears. I drank it, deciding I would stop before I made a fool of myself. Whom was I trying to fool? Myself?

It was late when the family decided to have the soup. Of course not before they had their obligatory dinner prayer. The baby cried, one of the smaller children soiled his pants, another one complained that the soup was too hot, two were playing with their sausages in their soup and one of the men who had obviously had to much to drink felt sick, but didn't make it out of the room in time and was sick next to the door.

The old woman laughed and when she did, I couldn't hold back my malicious joy and joined her laughter.

"I hope you do not think ill of us," she said, her eyes sparkling in amusement, "But it is like that every year. Tell me, good sir, how do you celebrate Christmas with your family?"

"I do not have a family, unfortunately..." I answered, trying to avoid further questions.

"No family? Why?" one of the men asked, one who was not as drunk as his brother whose wife was busy cleaning up while the other women tried to clean up the children's mess.

I was tempted to answer that I was glad I was spared their troubles but I didn't dare. I helplessly gestured to my mask. "Which woman would want a deformed man for a husband?" I asked and couldn't keep the bitterness from my voice.

"But you said the injury happened not long ago?" one man asked. Damn. I should be more careful what I was telling them.

"Yes. You see, I couldn't try to find myself a bride before I had a home and enough income to provide for a family, could I?"

My answer had not the effect I had thought it might have for it caused a terrible quarrel between the old woman and her four sons. The old woman reproached them for being irresponsible taking wifes and sire children before they had their own farm. Well, she had one farm and that would go to her eldest son after her death - but what about the younger sons? As responsible-minded men they should find women who had a farm but no husband and marry them, no matter how old they were, what they looked like or if they already had children. With my answer I had involuntarily dropped a clanger.

It took a while until they stopped yelling at each other and went on yelling at the children. They wanted the children to form a choir and sing Christmas carols. I winced at the mere thought and asked for another cup of tea. I was sure I would need any level of intoxication I could get before they started singing.

It took a while before the children stood in the right order. One boy was coughing, another one sneezing into the hair of a girl who stood before him. The oldest girl was plucking at her dress which was a bit too small for her. The baby puked at its mother, the yellowish goo running down her back. Another boy was crying and two of the elder boys started a fight. A very small boy complained that he was wearing a dress - which was true, but he was only two years old, so why not? He sat down on the floor.

The drunken man snored in his seat while the old woman kept pouring that infernal tea into our cups and I was sure in a few moments I, too, would just pass out. My head was spinning and I felt so tired, I guess I was really drifting off to sleep that moment, in a half-sitting position on the wooden bench, my head resting against the wall.

A boy was told to recite a poem. Instead of doing that, he put his left hand into his mouth, the thumb of his right hand into his nose and soiled his pants. I tried not to laugh as the women started yelling at the children that they had told all children to go to the toilet before the celebration and at each other that they should have taken care that the children really obeyed that order. Between yelling and cleaning up they all agreed that it was all their husband's fault. In the meantime the men agreed that it had been a grave mistake to get married and told me to be glad that I did not make that mistake to throw my life away for a few moments of pleasure. That moment I agreed with them. If that was what so-called domestic bliss was I was glad I got left out. The small boy who had soiled his pants was sent to his bed as punishment, but he didn't seem to be ashamed or sad, on the contrary, he grinned proudly as if he had just won in a difficult game.

The old woman tapped her stick and scolded no one in particular that they should behave properly, it was Christmas eve. But her speech was slurred and she was more amused than angry. Somehow I got the impression she enjoyed the show.

The children started singing something and I couldn't stop myself clasping my hands over my ears, but I was not able to really block out the horrible noise. From seventeen children only twelve made an efford to sing - if one wants to abuse that word - and it was more than horrible. Everyone of the twelve children was just shouting in one tone, as if everyone had picked one tone and tried to sing the entire song in that one tone. I had not thought it possible to find twelve tones that had not one harmony in them. One might expect that at least two would have some resemblance of harmony, but they did not.

I sat there, hands clasped over my ears, my eyes shut and I bit my lips to prevent myself from crying out in pain. It was physical painful to hear that. If soiling my pants would be the price for being allowed to leave that celebration I might actually consider it. I must have voiced my thoughts without even realizing it, for the four men and the old woman roared in laughter, the old woman even clapped me on the shoulder, surprising me with the strength of her hand.

I hid my masked face in my hands, repeating "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" as if I could take back what I had said with apologizing. I felt the heat of a blush in my cheeks and knew I was bright red with shame. I would never be able to make up for that faux pas, no matter what I did. That moment I was so ashamed of myself, I wished the ground would open and swallow me up.

"So, you think my children can't sing?" one of the women challenged me.

Before I could come up with any answer the old woman came to my rescue: "Not one of them has any talent for music. They all must have their untalented ears from their mothers. So stop trying to make them into a choir - they can't. They have ears like pigs and voices like goats, they will never sing. Better stop encouraging them or they might open their mouth in church. What horrible disgrace that would be!"

Had she really said that or was I hallucinating? Was that infernal tea that strong? I can only guess the others had heared the same for they started yelling at each other until the old woman played her most valuable card - like the excuse in Tarot card game it would trup every other card - and said: "As long as you have your feet under MY table and sleep under MY roof you do as I say!"

That silenced all of them immediately. They glared at each other, but no one said anything else.

"If you think you can do better, by all means, so so!" one of the women snapped at me, highly offended that I disliked her children's "singing". I was tempted to say that I couldn't do worse even if I tried, but I bit my tongue to prevent the words from leaving my lips, which was hard enough. I had my violin with me, so I tuned it - it was horribly mistuned due to the coldness - and just played.

The music allowed me to completely withdraw myself from where I was. I have no idea what I played or how long I played. All I know is that I did not see anything but the polished wood of my precious instrument glowing in the candlelight, I forgot where I was, who I was, did not hear anything but music. I loved that trance-like dream I created with my music, a small world only for me, where no feelings existed, where no sensory input was blocked out, where even time and space ceased to exist.

Someone must have woken me up by physically shaking me. If I entered that trance-like state I usually only came out of it because my body demanded some attention, which usually happened after some hours, forcing me to wake up from that heavenly dream. I blinked and needed a moment to find out where I was and what happened around me. I saw the children sitting at my feet, the women leaning against their husbands, crying, the old woman actually was leaning against me, a dreamlike look on her wrinkled face as she smiled her toothless smile. As homely as her face was, as she looked at me with that one eye and her toothless smile, there was a strange beauty in her features, a dignity like a real queen regent.

As I lowered my instrument I stared at her with gut-wrenching envy. Why could her face, ugly as it was now, deformed by old age and accidents, hold such a strange beauty when mine would never do that? Why would I never have one moment where I myself - I didn't dare to ask for another person to do that - would be able to look at my face without shuddering in disgust?

"What are you, Erik?" the old woman asked me, using my name for the first time, "What are you? No man can play like that. When you played I saw... heaven. Are you... an angel?"

"If I am an angel, then I am a fallen one. No, Madame, I am just another man trying to survive in this world," I answered honestly. That was a severe problem - after experiencing that trance I usually said the truth as if my capacity for logic and survival instinct were not back just yet. I bit my tongue and shook my head, trying to silence myself before I gave away too much. Silently I berated myself. I should never have allowed myself to slip into that trance, no matter how much I had needed its soothing balm to lessen the pain in my tortured senses.

I was still drowsy, for I actually missed that the family took their places and one man tried to read from a book. I did not understand one word and I guess the problem was not that I did not understand that old-fashioned German, the problem was that the man read like he was a very young schoolboy who did not know all letters.

"Can't someone else read this?" I asked, keeping my voice low enough only the old woman heared.

"No. My oldest son is the only one who ever attended school," she answered.

"May I?" I asked, no longer willing to endure that unintelligible stutter. Before they had any chance to say no I snatched the book which turned out to be some sort of children's Bible. I took over reading the Christmas story to them, just because I could no longer endure that stutter. The story was easy to read, although I have to admit that reading was always much harder than speaking a foreign language, but I was better in reading than that man. Somehow I felt ashamed reading the Christmas story to them. Why me - likely the only man there who did not really believe in anything, well, at least most of the time I did not even think about religion at all. If I did, sometimes I thought there might be a God, sometimes not. So it felt wrong that I would be the one to read, but I just wanted this to be over.

I guess that was the feeling most of the people in that room shared by now - the silent prayer that this ordeal should be over soon. When I finished reading the old woman asked me if I was a teacher. I could read better than the local priest and even better than the local teacher, which was a shock for me because their mothertongue was German. To me, German was a foreign language and I struggled with the correct pronunciation - why was my reading better? I guess it is just a matter of practice. But it was a shock to learn that even the teacher and the priest could not really read very well.

After that the women sent the children to go to the toilet - which the children did not like, I could understand them well, the backhouse toilet was really very cold, but at the same time I understood the women that they did not want to clean more buckets in the morning than absolutely necessary.

When the women and the children were gone the old woman winked at her sons and insisted on more tea. I tried to excuse myself, I really had had far too much by now, but the old woman grasped my wrist. I was surprised by the strength in these crooked, claw-like fingers. "You stay here like all men!" she commanded in a voice that might have made any army General stand attention and salute her. I put my violin back into its case and put it away where I hoped t might be save. This time one of the men made tea - and it was even stronger than the tea the woman made!

I wondered if I would survive the night. If I ever got away from them, I would have to turn myself in to the next hospital and endure withdrawal. I would not allow myself to sink any lower than I already had. As tempting as it was to commit a slow suicide with drugs and alcohol - I would not. I would not kill myself when all humanity had not been able to kill me. No. I would survive.

And then I had a cup with hot tea in my hand, tea, honey and alcohol. I have no idea what we did talk after that. I guess everyone was talking about whatever he wanted and no one listened. When the tea was gone they kept filling the cups with that horrible booze. I do not really know what happened then. I only remember feeling sick, trying to leave the room. I can only hope I made it in time, but I like to think so, for I remember falling down on hands and knees, retching, bringing up everything I had eaten and drunk so far. I did not even try to get up as my body convulsed again and again, retching, fighting for breath for the retching prevented me from breathing. It was painful, really painful, I was puking my guts out.

Somehow I managed to crawl to the stable and lie down on that makeshift straw pile that was to be my bed. Then everything went black.

I woke with a large dog and five cats in my bed. I was not angry, my stomach was on fire, I had a sour taste in my mouth and a horrible smell in my would-be nose. But I could not move, I felt as if heavy weigths had been tied to my limbs. I was glad the dog was there for he kept me warm. The dog - plus five cats who had decided that my body was the best mattress they would get that night. Then I learned why I had woken up - in my bed were three horses. Not really three horses, but the three horses were happily munching away my bed, the straw pile.

Maybe I should have been worried, but sleeping on the floor next to Belladonna's and Mandragon's hooves was nothing unusual. I knew them, they would not hurt me, but I did not know the stallion. And I did not know how the horses and the cats and the dog would react to each other once they would get in each other's way. I did not want to lie there when the horses might aim a kick at the cats which were lying on top of me.

But getting up was not possible - I could barely move, I would not get up. I just stayed where I was and hoped for the best. In that really miserable condition two women found me. They roared with laughter and I raised my hands to my face - the mask was in place, but it was filthy. I shuddered in disgust and a cold wave washed over me, leaving me shivering with cold, retching and bringing up a mouthful of bitter, yellow slime. I just spit it out, I lacked the strength to try to preserve some dignity.

They laughed even harder and told me that I would have to get up if I I wanted breakfast. I groaned and pulled some piece of cloth over my head, not even caring what it was. It later turned out to be a saddlecloth. Then I just tried to survive the morning with all the noise the feeding of the animals caused. Pigs squeaking, cows mooing, the chicken, the goats, the sheep - plus the horses which were not really happy that their nice little extra-meal was interrupted and they were taken back to their box. I just stayed beneath my cloth and blanket and tried to overcome that tremor that had sized my whole body.

I was only glad when they left me alone and the only sound I heard was the munching from the animals. It was somehow soothing and I fell asleep again.

It was late afternoon when I was finally able to get up and clean myself and change my clothes. Then I cleaned my mask and only after that I dared to go to the house and ask for a bucket of water so I could wash my clothes. One women agreed to melt snow in a pot on the stove so I would get boiling hot water, mix it with snow until the water would have the right temperature to clean my clothes.

That was the cause for another fight between the young women and their husbands. Obviously they had never before seen a man who was able to wash his own clothes. Of course I could - I had to. It would have been far more comfortable to have someone do the drudgery for me - but what woman would ever agree to marry me?

I was still busy trying to clean my jacket, this was not easy, the stench stuck to the wool and it took time, me sitting in that tiny place beside the stable I had been able to clean out.

"Do you really have no family?" I heard a voice behind me. It was the boy I had rescued and the oldest of the girls.

"No, I do not," I answered, still trying to clean the jacket.

"You are a good musician," the girl said, nibbling on a lock of her hair. I grunted and ignored her. She was twelve and I had no desire to have a polite conversation with a child while I was trying to clean up the mess I had made in my inebriety, ashamed of myself.

"My Papa says that you wear the mask because you were injured," the boy went on.

"Would you please leave me alone?" I asked, trying not to sound too harsh.

"Does it hurt?" the girl asked and reached out for me.

I pushed her away roughly before she could reach my mask. "Never ever try to come near me again!" I hissed and she ran away, crying.

"Don't be angry with her," the boy said, shrugging, "She's just a stupid girl. ALL girls are stupid." Then he hobbled off on his sticks. My jaw dropped. Did that girl really have a childish crush on me? I had never thought this possible, and I surely had no interest in children. That girl was twelve! I certainly was not attracted to her. Maybe six years later, but then she surely would not deign to look at me, I had no illusions when it came to women. They all loved my music, then wanted to see my face and then cried for help and wanted me arrested or killed - even if I had done nothing to offend them.

That evening I was invited to share their meal again. I had to endure the mockery that even the old grandmother had a higher tolerance for alcohol than I and if I was a man at all, having no stamina. When they had another pot of that tea, I had to leave the room for my stomach heaved again. Finally the old woman saved me from further disgrace for she told her daughters-in-law just to give me some soup and let me go to lie down in the stable.

The horses had reduced my straw-bed to nothing. I did not care, I could as well sleep on the two horsecloths, I had my four hotties - the dog and the three cats. They were only three. I do not know why I counted five the night before.

That night I was woken by a terrible thunder, the earth shaking as if in an earthquake. An avalanche! I sat there, frozen place in my panic. What could I do? If the avalanche hit the farm, I could do nothing. I did not even know if I would be better off inside the stable or outside, as an architect I knew the wooden stable would not protect me against an avalanche. Never. I got up and rushed to my mares, they were panicking, hoping they would not hurt each other, especially in that box with the stallion. I managed to calm them, holding their soft noses with one hand, silently praying to God for help.

Only the next morning I saw what had happened. It had been an avalanche, but it had missed the farm by about hundred meters. Only one hundred meters! As I saw the women get down on their knees and pray I understood why they did it. I shuddered as I understood just how close it had been - we all could be dead now, buried under tons of snow. But then - the avalance had cleared a path down to the valley where I could even see the road. Maybe I could get away now?

Asking them to help me get down was not easy. They told me it was still too dangerous. I reasoned that after that avalanche I doubted a second one would come down. But they thought it much too dangerous. I could see the way down form the farmyard - but would I be able to find it down there? Or just end up somewhere? I might not be lucky enough to find another farm or an inn or whatever where I could find shelter. It was dangerous, but was staying there even more dangerous? How long until they might want to see my face, despite my story that I had been injured and it still hurt?

I had to spend even the 26th December with them too. No one even thought about getting breakfast or eating anything at all. It was just... The avalanche had spooked everyone but no one was able to talk about it. Only the children, in their blissfull ignorance, thought we all had been save inside the house. I bit my tongue not to correct their believes - I knew the children would panic and I was surely the wrong one to calm them.

While everyone was working, the boy Josef came to me and asked if he would be allowed to ride my horse again. Since my horses needed to be active I had no objections. So I promised them, if they helped me cleaning out the snow from the entire farmyard we would have enough space for a ride. The usual riding-hall is 40 meters in length and 20 in broad, but a smaller place would have to do. Cleaning out so much space was more than difficult but their parents were happy to see the children doing something useful. Of course I was the one to do most of the work, but why not? The exercise kept my mind occupied and not worrying about the next moments. It helped to stay in their company.

Josef and the older girl where the first ones to become trusting and try to ride my horses. It was not hard to have my mares accept the children on their backs. So I walked around in the farmyard and my mares followed me, the stallion followed them. The old woman was irritated by the way the stallion obeyed me. She had not known their horse to be that gentle and obedient. It was not. The stallion did not obey me. He did what my mares told him to do like the humble suitor he was. But being walked around was not enough for the children, they wanted to ride in trod and gallop, what I could not allow, they were in no way able to ride. My solution was to give them a show. I could show them some tricks from the back of my horses as well. I just scratched a target into the snow-wall, then I would ride some rounds, then aim a throwing knife at the target and hit the mark. It was something I liked doing, it was harmless fun - but of course I could have killed if I wanted to. Finally I even blindfolded mayself with a black silk cloth. It was my magicians way to fold it, for in the sun was bright and the snow reflecting the sun - seeing through the thin black silk was no problem. I was riding Mandragon and direction Belladonna as usual with spoken commands. Mandragon was in her usual sleep-like state, trusting me to care for her. I wondered if she was able to shut down her brain when I was on her back. Belladonna did not obey my every command. She did play along but what we did there was far from being fit for circus, but it did not matter. These children had never seen a circus, had never seen much except the farm and the church, so it was easy to entertain them.

That evening they again wanted to have a celebration, like the one I had missed the day before. To prevent them from singing I asked if I could sing the Christmas carols they wanted to hear. Singing songs I had never sung before was no problem since they had a hymn book that was legible. I have no idea how long I sat there on the one armchair - they had only one - and sang. I woke up from my music because one of the children touched me. I had known the children would sit at the floor at my feet but the twelve year old girl had laid her head against my knee, a highly improper gesture and absolutely unwanted. I jumped to my feet and dropped the book.

My sudden movement startled them. Some smaller children started crying, they wanted me to sing more, and the adults asked me what was wrong. I did not dare telling them that a touch from a girl had spooked me. I feigned a cough and asked for a glass of water. Instead of water I got a cup of their infernal tea. I know I should not have drained it, not on an empty stomach, but I did. Then one woman noticed that the dinner was ready. They ate something they called "Sterz", that is a dish made of cereals or beans and does not have a strong taste. It is easy to make, cheap, and gives lots of strength for it is made with much fat. I would put on some weight, but that might improve my looks - if any improvement would be possible. But I was not used to eat so much fat, I couldn't even eat up, it was too much. I even asked for some alcohol in hope it might help with my stomach - or maybe I already was addicted. I did not care, I wanted to get out, I needed the bitter cold air and a walk, even if that walk could only be around the farmyard for the snow was still far too high, it had melted down a bit in the warmer air at noon and the weather changed for the warmer, but it was still nearly two meters high.

I ended up in a drinking contest with the other men. Not a good idea, absolutely not, but this time my weakness of the stomach saved me - I had to run and throw up the alcohol. This time I was sure I made it to the toilet in the backyard. I was more convinced than before that I had to leave this mountain farm as soon as possible. I did not bother to tell them goodby - I was sure they were already having enough fun at my expense by now and going back to the kitchen with all the smell from the cooking, the smoke from the stove and the tea - I was sure I would only loose whatever was left in my stomach.

I went to sleep in the stable again, with the dog and the three cats to keep me warm and my two mares nuzzling my face every so often to make sure I was still alive. I could tell them apart from their smell but I barely woke up when they did - I was used to their gentle attention and I trusted them. By then they made sure the stallion stayed in his box and did not approach me - faithful mistresses they were, my Belladonna and Mandragon. They would flirt with a stallion, but they would always come back to me for I was their true master.

A horrified scream woke me. I bolted upright, sitting on my blankets, confused, and stared at a woman who had dropped her burning torch in her fright. My hands flew up to my face - the mask was gone! Panicked I turned round to find it. It was lying next to the saddlepad I used as pillow. Reflexively I put it on and turned back to the woman. She still stood there, staring in horror at me. The torch had fallen to the ground - and there was straw and dried dung, both a very good fuel for fire! It needed to be put out or the stable would burn down - and it could not be rebuilt as long as that much snow prevented everyone from leaving the farm.

It would have been nice to say I reacted correctly, but I did not. My first impulse was to save my horses, but the fire was in the door, it was the only door and so my second idea was that I had to put out the fire somehow. I just ran through the fire - it was not that high - and just ran over the woman, pushing her into the snow. I did not care about her at all, she could have fallen into the flames for all I cared. My first priority was the horses and so I just grabbed a shovel and shoveled snow on the flames, which really did stop the fire.

Finally I leaned against the blackened wooden doorframe, breathing hard, trying to calm down. Before I had any chance to catch my breath the four men were around me, yelling at me something I did not understand. "I don't understand..." I breathed, holding up my hands slightly, trying to appease them.

Now only one of them spoke, accusing me of attacking his wife. It was more or less what I had expected to happen. I tried to tell them what had really happened, but they would not listen. I did not like it, but I reached for my lasso in my jacket, waiting for the inevitable attack. I against four unarmed and untrained men - maybe I should warn them that they did not stand a chance? I would seize one of them, then use him as a shield and as hostage against the others.

They did not attack, I did. My noose coiled around the neck of the strongest man, a move of my arm pulled him to me without snapping his neck or strangling him. I grabbed his shoulder and turned him round so he stood with his back to me, the rope securely in my left hand I reached for one of my knifes and soon enough the sharp blade was pressed against his throat. "Now, my friends, it is up to you," I purred in my most dangerous voice, a voice I usually used when I wanted to frighten someone, "Does your dear brother need a clean shave?" To demonstrate just how sharp my knife was I skratched his cheek and a bit of his beard came off. He was perfectly still and thus I did not hurt him. "Ah, a shave is a good thing, isn't it? Now - please help me to calm down a bit, my hand is shaking from all that uproar. If you keep annoying me maybe I cut him, and we wouldn't like that, would we?"

"Leave him be," the man I still held hostage told his brothers, "For god's sake! I believe Lisa is just being hysteric again. He's done nothing, so why bother?" Of course he was now on my side because he knew perfectly well he would be the first one to die should the situation escalate. But for how long? If I let him go now, he would turn on me the very same moment. Right now I seemed to have the upper hand, but I knew I did not. I could not hold that man and at the same time saddle my horses. I would not even find my way down to the road without their help.

My only hope for survival was to call a truce somehow. But I would not negotiate with them. I knew their mother was the head of the family and I trusted her to be more reasonable. "Call your mother. I talk to no one but her," I cried out and the man I held flinched. He didn't like the fact that his mother still was in charge and not him.

Soon the whole family stood there, at the backdoor of the house, the four men and I at the other side of the farmyard, by the stabledoor. The women called out to their men and they went to stand between me and their children - as if I had any intention to harm the children. Instead of the old matriarch the twelve year old girl came to me. I rolled my eyes, that was all I needed. A twelve year old girl.

"You did not attack my aunt, did you?" she asked, "You would never harm anyone, would you?"

God bless the child. So much naivete should be rewarded if it was a just world. "I do not want to harm him," I said, but I did not release the man nor did I take the knive down. I was ready to kill him if necessary - and take the girl hostage, she would be easier to handle than the man. So much for "I would not harm anyone".

"You are a good man, aren't you?" the girl asked and I tried my best not to laugh. A good man? Certainly not! I was a thief, trickster and murderer. Not only that - I was a professional assassin. I had earned my lifelihood killing just to entertain bored rich aristocrats. And yet - there was that girl, standing there, wide-eyed, believing in me to be good.

"You are far too tusting," I told her, trying not to let her foolish behaviour move me. I needed to be in full command of my emotions, I needed to be completely in control to get out of this alive.

That moment the old woman came to me, leaning on her stick. "Erik, this is very un-Christian behaviour!" she rebuked me as if I was one of her sons. I could not help chuckling at the sheer absurdity of that situation.

"It is very un-Christian to accuse me of attacking a woman when she set the stable aflame and I just wanted to put the fire out!" I told her, keeping my voice steady and calm.

"What fire?" the woman - Lisa - cried, "There was no fire, he attacked me, just look at his face, he's a monster! He's as ugly as a Percht!" A Percht is some sort of mythical creature, very ugly, and sometimes young men in the alps dress in costumes as Perchts, drink, make much noise, and fight. They say that if they celebrate roughly enough "one of them is true". Some call them "Schiarchperchten". I did never understand that, must be some pagan rite that could easily be mistaken for a satanistic rite. I wonder why this was a tradition in such a Catholic land.

"Was the doorframe black yesterday? Where does the ashes come from? The smoke?" I did not loosen my grip on the lasso but I pointed with the knife to the wood. "I am sorry she had to see my face - I really am, but I warned you. I told you I was deformed. What did you expect?" I felt my self-control slip. It was the same as always - just when I thought there might be a small chance to stay somewhere - out of necessity - something like that happened. I did not want to have to kill again, not these men, not these women and certainly not the children. Could I trade off their lives against mine? God, seventeen children! "I do not want to do this!" I yelled, bursting into tears, "I do not want this! I just wanted to leave... Why didn't you just show me the way to the road?"

The old woman studied the blackened boards. Then she turned to the woman who was still hysterically sobbing and hit her hard with her stick. "Stop being foolish," she said, then turned to me: "And you too. You are my guest, kindly behave like a guest."

I lowered the knife and let go of the man, hoping they would see this as prove for my good nature. In truth I was in a better position than ever, I had the girl and the grandmother, they were far better hostages than the man, easier to handle and not half as strong, plus their value to their family was much higher.

"Just look at him!" yelled the woman, "He's a monster!"

"Don't be silly, auntie, he's just deformed. A poor, crippled man and you are being prejudiced!" the girl said and I wanted to thank her.

"I think he is not deformed - he is wa wanted criminal who has to hide his face to hide his identity," the man I had just moments ago released said, "The way he caught me with his rope, the way he uses the knife and have you seen how he throws knifes in full gallop? He must be a murderer!"

"I'm not!" I cried out before I had any time to think. Sometimes my ability to lie surprised even myself. I had denied being a murderer without even thinking - some policemen think that a spontaneous answer is always true. In my case this was not true. My spontaneous answeres were mostly lies, I was so used to lying that telling the truth was really hard for me.

"Show your face!" the old woman demanded.

"I'd rather not," I refused, but then I added: "Only if you promise to show me the way to the road today!"

"Allright, we will show you," she promised. With a deep sigh I lifted my hands and took off the mask, bracing myself for the screams and retching that usually followed that demeaning unmasking.

How much I hate to be right in my prediction. I would love to be wrong, just once. The children cried and fled to the house, nearly trampling the younger ones in their hurry to get away from me. The women screamed and ran after the children. The men winced in disgust and spit on the ground. The twelve year old girl was obviously healed from her childish crush and fled to the house, screaming. So much for any hope of anyone ever accepting me.

"Just show me the way to the road and I'll go," I asked again, this time my voice was not threatenting, only desperate. Whatever had happened, I did not want to kill them. They were just a bunch of stupid, superstitious bumpkin. They were not worth the nightmares such a carnage would evoce. The old woman told the men to go to the house and they obeyed.

When they were gone I went back to the stable and allowed myself to slump down on my makeshift bed, crying in relief that I had survived without killing anyone. It surely was a Christmas miracle. That farm would not have been the first house to burn down with the corpses of its inhabitants just because I needed to survive. But I would not kill unless necessary. My own personal code of conduct demanded that everyone would get one chance to save his life and do whatever I needed him to do - be that give me something or just stay away from me - and I would only kill if I had to.

I crossed myself and folded my hands, a silent prayer of thanks. I had been ready to kill - and was spared.

"You should saddle your horses," the old woman said. I had almost forgotten she was there.

Nodding, I got up and started moving through the movements without thinking. I knew how to brush the horses, clean their hooves, saddle them, brindle them and pack my belongings. I can't remember when I had put on my mask again.

"Your face - you lied about it, didn't you?" she asked again. I nodded, emotionally drained, unwilling to care what they would think about me. "This was an injury," she said, pointing to her own face, the lost eye, the deformed cheek, "A horse kicked me. I guess I was lucky to survive." Did she wait for an answer? For sympathy? She was much better off than I was.

"I guess everything else you told us was a lie too," she said and tapped her stick nervously.

"Not everything," I replied softly, caressing Belladonna, Mandragon nuzzling my back. "I am sorry, Madame, I did not want any of this. I just want to go now, can you please show me the way to the road?"

The old woman returned to the house. When I was ready to leave she came back and handed me a loaf of bread, not normal bread, it was fruit bread, a very dark bread with many different fruits in it. It was the perfect food for a journey for it was durable, especially in winter. "Merry Christmas," she said and I nearly choked on my tears. I took out my purse, grabbed some money and handed it to her.

She took the money and her eyes went wide. "That... that is too much. You could buy that farm with so much money!" she exclaimed.

"Take it. Your seventeen grandchildren will all need a roof over their heads," I snapped at her, feeling horribly guilty for my plan to kill them, all of them, even the children. I had already envisioned them lying dead in the farmyard, the snow red from their blood. What sort of monster was I? Now I was trying to soothe my guilty conscience with money - as if I could just pay and wash my hands of it.

One of her sons - the one who could read - hitched up the stallion to a sledge. A very crude sledge, one of those which could be used for forest work. They sat down on that sledge - it did not even have a coachmen's seat - and rode off, telling me to follow them. The first one hundred meters through the snow - two meters high - were the worst. I do not know how long we worked to clear the path to where the avalanche had cleared a swathe. From there it was easier - but it was still a very long and hard walk. The beared man went ahead, leading the stallion which pulled the sledge with the old woman, I walked behind it, leading my two horses.

Hours after sunset we finally arrived at the road, all of us tired and freezing. But they led me to a coaching inn where we could spend the night. I invited them to a lengthy meal, paying for all of us for our food and the rooms for the night, as well as the stable boxes for the horses.

Obviously my mask had spooked the innkeeper for he offered me "the best room in the house, very quiet." It was the remotest room of the coaching inn for it was in an extra building, it looked like it was just the small neighbouring house the innkeeper had bought and not yet rebuild to have more rooms to rent. It had an old, dirty kitchen, the ceiling black from the smoke from the open fire, the stench from the smoke making me cough. The next room was filled with old furniture, dust and spiderwebs. I was too tired to care, I did not even care about the ice on the windowsill - inside - or the mice running in panic from my light. I was - after that healthy meal and sharing six bottles of wine with the old woman and her son - too tired and too drunk to care. I just locked the door and collapsed into the squeaking bed and luckily had the presence of mind to extinguish the candle before I fell asleep.

I woke late the next day, very late, at sunset. Of course my travelling companions had left at sunrise, but I did no longer care. I was glad to have some days to recover and collect my strength for the very long and difficult travel that lay before me. It was still winter, the road was covered in snow. It might have been easier if I had any idea where I really wanted to go and what I would do there and not just drift like a dead leaf in the storm. Sometimes I wished I could settle down and do something - something other than just leaving a trail of destruction behind me. Something that would give my life a meaning.

 _XXXXXXXX_

 _Thank you for reading this rather long one-shot. It was inspired by a real Christmas I experienced, but I do not want to go into detail. Please review!_

 _MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR_


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